


warm, not yours

by Opelucid



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Gen, actually, branquinho com canela, but i dont expect anyone to read this, i feel like i should tag more things, now in english, please dont read this., shitty teen angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 00:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13469682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opelucid/pseuds/Opelucid
Summary: There's a lot of things you like about him.





	warm, not yours

Warm.

It’s warm outside. You are not fond of warmth, you dislike the sun. It burns your skin, it makes your heart flip, and it’s oh so warm. The thought of going outside send thrills to your spine; It’s overbearing.

Exactly like him.

There’s a lot of things that you like about him, you think to yourself, his never ending supply of body heat is one of those things. You’ve hugged him enough to get used to the feeling. It was awkward, lanky, insufficient, but you both worked it out, you suppose. He was warm, just like the sun, and you embraced him, not caring at all about the consequences. Like you should.

Your interactions were always shallow. It was kind of infuriating, really, but you couldn’t predict him at all.

You knew him, you two were inseparable, he told you every secret and every detail he was allowed to, and you did the same. But at the same time, he was a stranger. You never knew what he was going to do next. Every word, every move was meticulously chosen; he always seem to know how to do the right thing. The loveliest improviser, that’s him.

But that doesn’t help your case at all; sometimes he’s really kind and sweet, other times he’s distant, indifferent, you never know. He is overwhelming and not enough at the same time, he’s oblivious but aware; he is everything and nothing; you love him, the smug asshole.

* * *

He’s warm, very very warm.

His eyes are warm, not just warm, but inviting and comforting; You always get lost in them. You are sure that you’ve never seen something that enticing in your whole half thirty years of existence. They keep you grounded, they keep you safe, telling that everything is going to be ok. 

You stared at his eyes a lot, eye contact was really frequent, you tried to show that you adored him, forced your eyes to show how much you appreciated his company. He obviously knew that, he was aware of your admiration for him; you bet that he saw it in your eyes

You swear that you saw love in the way he looked at you, too.

At least that was what you wanted to think. 

* * *

You have the habit of taking everything seriously, even when it’s painfully obvious, in your face, that it’s a joke, just something to laugh about. He’s funny, you think, his jokes and references are not the best, but his charm is what makes it funny. You always laughed at his jokes; or at least tried to. When he makes a joke about something you’re sensitive about, you try your best to not show to him you’re hurt.

As always, he knows anyway. He always apologized soon after.

You’re glad to have met him. You don’t know what you would do without him

You still don’t.  


* * *

Cold

It’s cold, outside. You shiver. 

_‘hey, can you let me borrow your jacket? it’s cold’_ You plead. He blinks. _‘sure, just give it back before class ends’_ Your heart flips. He agrees. You’re warm again.

It’s not enough.

* * *

You’ve fallen in love before, you guess, different people, different places, but it feels the same. It’s all a blur, you can’t remember their names, it was nothing special anyway. You don’t want to fall in love ever again; it’s tiring.

He’s different, he’s always the exception, he consumes you. You don’t stop him.

You wish you had.

* * *

Sometimes, you think the world is full of machines who pretend to be people. It’s not possible that they’re real. You feel like you’re the only one conscious, although you don’t feel like you’re actually living. Everything feels like a script, it’s like everything was made around your self-centred ego; people come and go and it never feels natural, it’s almost like they’re mocking you, taunting you untill you crash down, crying and begging for everything to stop and-

* * *

You adore him very much, he isn’t perfect, and maybe that’s a good thing, but you still adore him.

He makes you feel human, he makes you feel alive. That’s an edgy thing to say, you think, but it couldn’t be closer to the truth. Every time he looks at you, talks to you, smiles at you, you melt; you feel like you're on top of the world, he stares at you like you’re important, like you’re worth his time, like he lov-

He doesn’t.

You are aware of that fact, but that doesn’t mean you admire him any less. Your heart still flips everytime you see him. You hold close every secret, every moment, everything you both shared and you’re not letting it go, ever. You lost a couple of pictures and chatlogs, yes, but you still have everything archived in your memory.

Maybe this isn’t the healthiest coping method, but is the only that works out for you. This way, no matter where you go, he will always be part of you, you can’t bear the thought of ever forgetting him.

He made you feel happy and you couldn’t been more grateful. You may start to rethink your actions, may even submit to the urge of going outside. You may start liking the way the sun feels, let it wash all over your skin. It would be warm, warm just like him, just like you remember.  
You wouldn’t want to let go, you would want the sun all for you, and for you only. You would start getting impatient, you would absolutely want to look up. Burn your retinas to an irreversible point, you would want to look and look and look and never stop, untill you can’t see anymore, untill you can’t cry anymore, because you would be blind, spent, burnt and oh so so warm.

Of course, you won’t do any of that. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to look at him anymore. And you really, really want to see him again. 

* * *

You dream of him frequently.

Most of the time, your dreams aren’t specifically about him, but he is always there. In the background. Sometimes you interact with him, other times you can’t reach to him at all, it’s unpredictable.

He’s always there, ready to either embrace and guide you or to rip your heart off.

Those dreams feel more real than they should.  


* * *

 

You think he hates you.

You hope he doesn’t, but if he did, you wouldn’t blame him. He’s still warm, his eyes are still burning bright, but now it’s dulled, muted down. He looks gloomy, he seems suffocated. And you think you know why. 

Pity.

It’s called pity.

You like to think that he was by your side because he saw something in you, because he cared, because he was your friend, because he loved you, not in the same way you do, but at least enough to keep a mutual relationship going.

What you don’t like, though, is the fact that he knows, that you know, that he is only with you because he feels obligated, he feels like you’re his responsability, not because he cares, but because he knows that you would be less than a human being without him, and if he did leave you alone, you would crawl and beg for his return to your side. Pity.

You aren’t ready for this, you aren’t ready for this and he can’t leave you alone so you hold onto him as much as you can, you take up portions of his time slowly and surely, you managed to slowly consume him, have him with little to no time to anything else other than look at you and spend time dealing with your shit.  
He was your only hope, your everything, your one and only, endearingly so, you wanted to grow old with him and travel the world and just look at his face, map his body and burn his features into your brain, look at him, your pretty thing, the cinnamon to your rice pudding, the peanut butter to your jelly, he’s everything, he owns your heart with those dark, warm eyes, bright white skin, strawberry blonde hair and his lovely smile and- 

 

It’s warm again, but you don’t bring yourself to care. You feel cold, he doesn’t let you borrow his jacket this time. You shiver, he doesn’t look at you for the entire week.

Jealousy is your middle name. You don’t exactly like it, but you can’t control it, it’s not your fault.

You don’t exactly like when you see him smiling at your best friend, who is also very in love with him.

You aren’t sure if you want to rip her soul off or stab yourself with a butter knife. That’s not a nice thing to think about.

* * *

You lost him.

You lost his trust.

You are not sure of when he stopped talking to you altogether. It’s cold again and you sob, there’s nothing you can do but look at him while he finds happiness in the arms of someone else.

You’d be better off freezing to death. You are not worthy of his warmth ever again. 

* * *

It’s yucky outside.

Time passes, everything changes. You are not fond of changes, you dislike having to adapt to everything again. It stresses you out. Just knowing that you can never go back in time leaves you helpless; it’s underwhelming.

Time passes, you shorten your hair, you change your glasses, your art skills improve, you try to force yourself to meet new people. You miss having your heart throb when you spot someone in a crowd. Things worsen, contact is as thin as ever; you’ll have to move on.

There’s a lot of things that you like about him, you ponder, the fact that he’ll be in the back of your mind no matter where you go, is one of them. You still talk to him from time to time, it’s not the same, you still write and draw for him; he’s astonished by your capacity to remember small things. He still gives you hope even though you know there is none. He changed a lot, you probably did too, you are still fond of him.

Even though it’s not the same, you still hold into him.

* * *

It’s yucky outside.

His memory is warm on your heart and you carry it with you everywhere. Omnipresent; with you, always.

And you hope that, someday, you’ll find warmth again.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, my english fucking sucks.


End file.
